Like Kings
by quiet-apparition
Summary: How can you change your attitude to a person you've always hated? A DG fanfic which takes place in Ginny's sixth year and has snippits of RonHermione, HarryLuna and NevilleSusan. I promise that there will be no mary-sues.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
Like Kings  
  
"I love him."  
  
My family stared at Draco and I, flabbergasted, eight red-haired masks of horror. Bill, Charlie and Percy who had never been in close contact with Draco looked the least horrified, but even his white-blonde locks were enough for them to make the connection between him and Lucius. Bill, favourite brother of mine, looked like he was about to say something but stopped when he saw Ron, whose face was coloured scarlet and looked like he was having trouble breathing, the twins, who were clutching each others arms in horror - wanting to believe that this was one of the jokes that they were so fond of - and Mum and Dad, looking angry and hurt all at once.  
  
They stayed like this for at least a minute, still as statues, and the only sound in the room was the loudly ticking clock – all of its long fingers swinging between "Mortal Danger" and "Home". I thought that mortal danger was a slight exaggeration. Draco, who was (quite rightly) using me as a shield, put his hand on my shoulder and a reassuring warmth spread through me. Ron's eye's darted to that hand and it made his face turned from scarlet to puce. None of my family had moved or made any noise (apart from Bill, whose shoulders were shaking ever so slightly with repressed laughter) so I decided to give them an explanation in this rare moment of silence.  
  
"I know what you're all thinking – Malfoy, the ferret boy (sorry, Draco), - how could anyone, let alone me, love him? And even if you did love him, how could he love you back? Well, I have managed to love him, to forgive him, and to accept that he's changed since his Father went to Azkaban and I know he loves me because he's told me so – I trust his eyes not to lie to me. I ... I'm sorry for the shock," I finished lamely.  
  
There were a few more seconds of silence in which I could almost see the clogs of comprehension going around in their heads. "Ginny," my Mother said hoarsely, "When did this all begin?"  
  
*  
  
Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was always hectic on the thirty-first of July, particularly between ten-thirty and eleven, when hundreds of Hogwarts students waited for the Hogwarts Express and the start of the school year. Some students have never experienced this train ride before, and they wait with their parents dressed in new school robes, clutching new trunks which have been filled to the brim by stressed Mothers who feel the need to provide a pair of socks for every single day that their child, their baby, will be away from them. My mum told me before my first year that she had wanted to do this for Bill, and that she wanted to do it for me and for every child between us, but obvious reasons meant that we couldn't afford the socks. That was the only time I really, truly hated being poor.  
  
The seventh-years, though pretending to be absorbed by their friends and their conversations, watch the first years nostalgically. All who leave Hogwarts miss it, and for the rest of their lives they search for a place where they can feel as powerful as they did when they walked the stone halls, knowing that there were no real consequences and no real threats – safe with their ignorance. I decided as early as my second year that I would never be like them and could never be like them because of Tom – I mean, Voldemort – because I never had a real first year. Now in my sixth year I know I will always wish for those first months of me-and-my-diary, when it felt like someone lived because I lived, all for me.  
  
This year I'm one of the in-betweeners, the ones who want an end to school monotony, to see in colours other than black and white but who never quite manage to see beyond our crushes and our OWLs, our group conflicts and the unfairness of our detentions (not that I get any ... frequently). Strictly speaking I like to think of myself as different, as unlike "them", deeper, more important ... something of which my best friend, and Harry's girlfriend, Luna Lovegood informs me constantly, and conveniently just at this second.  
  
"Are you even listening to me, Ginny? Just because you were "helping the noble cause with the Order" –" which I wasn't, we were keeping house again, "it doesn't mean that you're better than me! Why'd you have to go out of your way to seem so different?"  
  
I am a horrible best friend. I should not be laughing at the irony of my best friend, "Looney", telling me that I'm different. I should see beyond it, I am seeing beyond it, I have stopped laughing ... oh, stuff it. Ignoring my giggle's Luna continued, "So anyway - Dad took me to Hungary where we went looking for traces of ancient giant cultures and there was this one point where we were following an ancient hunting path and came across these large rocks. Dad immediately saw that they were smooth and that they seemed to be in a pattern, you know the sort of pattern where they try and fool you into believing that there's not pattern at all, and that they had been carved and placed in this way by giants –"  
  
"Or erosion" I said under my breath. Bad best friend!  
  
"- And there's going to be an article on it in the next Quibbler. What did you do?"  
  
"Oh, you know same old, same old." Which of course is true, but Luna, being Luna, can see through my happy front. She looked at me with her eyes completely in focus and a compassionate look on her face - the look that reminds me why she's my best friend, she may not get sarcasm but she can read me like a book, a book which she reads just as frequently as she does the Quibbler. "Go on."  
  
"Well, Percy has joined the Order, and apologised to Mum and Dad ... but I don't think they've really forgiven him, or that he's really sorry. So everything at home has been awkward, like everyone's just stepping lightly around everyone else, so it's not really my family anymore. The war – it's changing everyone! By the time it ends I'm not going to recognise my family anymore – what if they don't recognise me?"  
  
Luna smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Harry promised me it would be over soon – and then there'll be nothing to worry about. Of course, it'll never be completely the same but, and I know this is hard to believe and me saying it doesn't make it any more true, but –"  
  
I didn't find out what was coming after "but –" because at that moment the train's whistle blew, and Luna and I had to hurry to gets seats. I think she was going to say, "But things get better," to which I would have replied, "You're only saying that because you're snogging Harry Potter!"  
  
We would have laughed, but quickly stopped once we realised that there was quite a large chance that by the end of this year there would be no more Harry to snog.  
  
*  
  
Luna and I managed to get hold of a car for ourselves and we sat facing each other in a comfortable silence as the train sped away from London. As always, Luna was reading a copy of the Quibbler, the magazine her Father owned. Since it released Harry's interview two years ago, telling the story of Voldemorts return, the Quibbler had gained more and more readers and was threatening Witch Weekly's position as the most popular magazine in the country.  
  
I leaned back into the plush seat and, half-closing me eyes, tried to let my thoughts go. I concentrated on my breathing, and when that didn't work I tried to name all the flavours of Bertie Bott's every flavour beans I had tasted. "Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, Soil, Coffee, Tea ... Lemon ... Tuna," I formed the syllables with my lips but didn't say them out loud, "Sulphur ... Footsteps .... Shouting ... Explosion!"  
  
The last word was shouted as both Luna and I jumped to our feet and whipped out our wands, mine from my pocket and Luna's from behind her ear. "What was that?" I asked her, somewhat foolishly.  
  
"I don't know," she replied, looking more perplexed than usual and just a little desperate, "But it might be a good idea to go and see."  
  
At her suggestion we both moved to the carriage door. Through the small window I could see other students hurrying down to the back of the train – everyone was jumpy now that Voldemort was back, last year Professor Holsworthy – the DADA teacher – became so paranoid that she had a nervous breakdown. Luna opened the door with such force that she knocked someone coming down the corridor flat on their back, and without waiting to help she sprinted off in what I knew to be a search for Harry, her Harry. Apologising quickly, I pulled the poor student up, a small boy from Hufflepuff, and with a mounting sense of urgency ran off after Luna. She was not far ahead of me, a crowd had formed and no amount of pushing could get her through. Standing on tiptoe beside her I tried to look over the heads of the jostling students. "It's no use," I said despairingly, "The crowds too thick."  
  
"Maybe," Luna said with a slight smile, "Or maybe you should use those fireworks the twins gave you for Christmas."  
  
*  
  
Five minutes and many singed robes later Luna and I managed to force our way to the front of the crowd. We saw, not Voldemort and Harry as we had feared, but Malfoy and my brother Ron, covered in stink sap and hex marks, lying unconscious on either side of a frantic Neville and what looked to be a very dishevelled pot-plant. Harry and Hermione were by Ron's side trying to rouse him. "Neville!" I said, "What happened?"  
  
Neville looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "They were fighting," he wailed, "They've killed it!"  
  
Once more he bent over the plant and began stroking its' remaining limbs tenderly. I squatted beside him and put a hand on his back. "Was it the Mimbulus?"  
  
"Yes," he sniffed, sounding like he didn't want to believe it, "It was."  
  
"Oh Neville," I tried to smile reassuringly, "I'm so sorry,"  
  
Hermione came over to my side and said, "We were in our compartment and Malfoy came by and asked whether anyone had died over the holidays –said he wasn't going to get his hopes up until he'd confirmed it for himself. Ron, well you can imagine what Ron did, he threw the nearest thing at Malfoy's head –"  
  
"Which was the Mimbulus?" Luna said.  
  
"-Which happened to be the Neville's plant – I was just getting to that, Luna – Malfoy ducked it and jinxed Ron. You know the rest."  
  
"Um, actually no. What was the explosion?" I said  
  
"That was the Mimbulus," Hermione screwed up her nose, "One of the hexes – probably Ron's, you know his horrible aim – hit it. Hence the stink sap," she gestured to the thick layer of gunge covering the walls.  
  
"But what was Malfoy confirming? Who was telling him that someone had died?" I said.  
  
"Probably just his parents, increasing his morale or something," Harry said in an offhanded way, "Ron's coming around now."  
  
Still squatting, I turned to look at my brother who was grudgingly pulling himself up to a sitting position. "Well, Head Boy," I said, "That was a good way to start your year – very responsible," I grinned at him.  
  
"Oh shut up, Ginny. Malfoy was asking for it," as he spoke his ears turned red, "Ferret-faced little b-"  
  
"Well, we'd better start cleaning," Hermione said loudly, with a pointed look at Ron, "Scourgify!" and turning to the few students remaining, "Everything's fine, go back to your carriages!"  
  
Huffily she pulled Ron to his feet and gripping him by the arm pulled him into the compartment. "Ginny is right, Ron. As Head Boy you should be setting a good example. Oh, don't roll your eyes at me like that! Stop it n–"  
  
Harry met my eyes and we grinned at each other. Throughout last year, and all through the summer holidays, Ron and Hermione had been having "lovers' quarrels" – which were quickly quashed. There had been too many awkward occasions where someone had found them making up for us to do anything but tease them (mainly Ron). The twin's started calling it "bro-baiting" – I thought it should be "sis-baiting" but obviously it couldn't be called that that would be taking away their glory.  
  
Luna, Harry and I stepped over Malfoy whose tongue was now lolling out of his mouth - I rolled him over with my foot so he wouldn't choke to death – and went into the compartment ourselves. Neville and his Mimbulus Mimbletonia had disappeared, Susan Bones, Neville's girlfriend, was probably trying to "cheer him up". Typically Ron and Hermione were no longer fighting but were sitting next to each other, whispering "secrets" and giggling (yes, Ron was giggling). If he wasn't my brother and she wasn't my second-best friend I think I would have thought it cute. As it is I just felt sick.  
  
Luna and Harry seemed to be getting ideas from Ron and Hermione, and they started snuggling up to each other. It's quite hard not to feel like a fifth wheel sometimes. Last year it was "Ron-and-Hermione" and "Harry-and- Luna" and "Dean-and-Ginny", but Dean soon became annoyed at Ron, who has appointed himself my protector, and threatens all boys who show interest in me with the promise of shoving a Fillbuster firework somewhere they're not likely to forget it if they even think of touching me. As you can imagine finding a maniacally grinning Ron grasping large amounts of firecrackers every time you turn around is a little off-putting.  
  
After five minutes no one seemed any nearer to starting a conversation so I got up and said, "I'm going to change into my robes," very loudly. Hermione had the decency to look embarrassed.  
  
On my way out I almost tripped over Malfoy, who was getting up but still covered in hex marks. My weigh, although not considerable, was just enough to knock him, ho really wasn't that much bigger than me, to the floor again. To my surprise, he looked up at me and drawled, "Well, Weasley, seeing as there's no way I'm going to be able to hex you in my current position, especially with my wand poking into my back, I suggest you just go ahead and jinx me back into sleep. We'll waste less time that way."  
  
"Ah Malfoy, you were always the economist. Is that why Crabbe and Goyle aren't here? Did you finally discover that you only need one stupid person to start a fight? ... And as enticing as your suggestion is I think that I should save my breath instead, I don't want to waste it on you," I turned and started walking back up to the front of the train.  
  
I could feel him scowl into the back of my neck, "Crabbe and Goyle are ... my, my Weasley, this certainly is very Gryffindor-ish of you. Stupid, that is. Your multitude of brothers is going to be very disappointed with you for missing such an opportunity."  
  
Not bothering to look back at him I called over my shoulder, "I'll just blame it on a rush of blood to the head."  
  
A/N:Please review!!! 


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